


Windowsill Symphony

by Immerghensi



Category: N.Flying (Band)
Genre: M/M, Pre-Relationship, Prequel, Reminiscing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-09
Updated: 2020-10-09
Packaged: 2021-03-07 19:54:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,359
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26903218
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Immerghensi/pseuds/Immerghensi
Summary: Hun watches his cassettes.++A prequel to The Off-Key Ballad of Saint Sunshine
Relationships: Cha Hoon/Kim Jaehyun
Comments: 1
Kudos: 13





	Windowsill Symphony

**Author's Note:**

> I tried jamming this arc into OKBOSS, I really did, but when it doesn't fit it doesn't fit

Cha Hun has exactly three things in life he loves, and those are his cat, his bed, and the set of tape cassettes no one is allowed to touch upon threat of a death most violent, and sometimes that order changes but mostly it doesn’t. He doesn’t love video games. He doesn’t love going to social gatherings. He certainly doesn’t love being squished in loud, hot, dark boxes with too many meat suits and not enough proprioception. He removes his mug from the microwave and sits down in front of the old Panasonic he bought specifically for this purpose. Unlock the cabinet where the shelves of boxes live. Take out a box. Pick a cassette. Where shall we start? He puts in the first cassette into the VCR and the screen shows digital blue. 

Two years old. Dropped in front of his grandparents’ house without warning. They’re not actually his grandparents- they were strangers before that day. It was 3pm, he’s been told. Overcast. Not that he remembers, of course. It was the October after his first birthday and Grandpa was starting to bring out the decorations. Maybe that was the whole plan, to make sure Hun was found. Grandma is running with the camera to capture the moment. Grandpa is already holding the little grey bundle and trying to convince him not to cry. He looks around, pleading, and finds no answers. Grandma turns off the camera so they can take him inside.

Ten years old. The year Grandma taught him how to play the guitar and Grandpa started coughing. It’s January and there’s snow outside. The furnace is chugging away in the basement and Hun’s bed is placed directly on top of it on the floor above. He always gets colds. Grandma says it’s because he’s so skinny. They just watched _Marley and Me_ and Hun is crying his eyes out, and Grandpa is chuckling in a sort of pitiful way, like when an animal is just too damn small and innocent for this hungry world, rubbing his back and telling him that everything is ok. Everything is not ok to ten-year-old Hun, but Grandma asks him if he’d like hot chocolate and it’s enough to reduce him down to occasional sniffles. At least that is ok.

Eighteen. Free at last. Free to travel and become his own person. He gets his first sunflower inked onto his right wrist, starts his apprenticeship, and goes to college part time- mostly so that they wouldn’t be so nervous about his future even though he promised it would be fine. He was young then. Too wild and nervous and confused to know that things don’t turn out the way they’re supposed to because fate loved nothing more than writing down its plans on paper just to rip it up and throw it like confetti.

Twenty. Grandma is 88 now. Grandpa is 92. He loves her dearly, even from the big, white hospital bed that was wheeled in that June. It’s July and Grandpa is apologizing for making Hun come all the way from that place he can’t pronounce to fix the air conditioner, which of course he would do because it seems like everyone’s air conditioner is broken and everyone’s air conditioner is going to be fixed before theirs, and that’s something that happens during a flash storm followed by a heatwave even if it shouldn’t. It’s humid and the sound of the insects buzzing is loud even in the grainy footage. Grandma is scouring the house for long-forgotten box fans and has found five that Hun was completely unaware of. There’s a bang in the distance. It looks like she’s found a sixth.

Twenty-two. Hun props the camera on some boxes. He’s not as good at using it as Grandma is since she’s been doing it for 20 years, but he gets it situated so they’re at least in the frame. She’s sitting in her chair, looking at her hands. She’s been doing at a lot lately. She doesn’t do much else. Hun sits down in the place where the big, white hospital bed used to be and plays the guitar, and Grandma smiles at him. It’s one of the only times she smiles. Only then, and when she talks about the past, but that usually ends with her crying so Hun doesn’t like to talk about it too much. He strums the chords he doesn’t know the actual names of and sings. He finds he sings better when he’s hurt.

Twenty-three. His arms are covered in flowers. Marigolds, buttercups, roses, hydrangeas. Her favorites are still the sunflowers. Grandma’s hands shake in his and she says that it’s ok if he’s sad. She’s going to go to a better place once God calls her home. Hun has become very good at not crying at this point. He picks at a scab and tells her that he’s glad that God hasn’t called her yet even though he doesn’t believe in such comforts. He tells her about the places he’s gone and the people he’s met. He says that one day, when this is all over, maybe they’ll go on a trip and see it. And Grandma laughs and starts counting the sunflower petals again- she always makes it to about 206 before she stops to tell a story- and picks up with the one on the back of his left hand. 206, 207, 208….

Twenty-four was deleted. He did it himself. It was just him staring at nothing with tears running down his face, sort like what Grandma used to do and what Grandpa used to tell him not to do. He can’t stop the numbness. He prays at the temple of red-eyed misery and hopes that when the distant relatives who never cared to visit say that the hurt will lessen with time, they’re right.

Twenty-five. Earlier this year. He's introducing Romang to the little yellow house he bought. She’s beautiful, and she slips into the nooks that Hun has forgotten about and vanishes for hours on end, giving him a heart attack until she emerges like a vision from between the boxes. He tries calling her over but she’s the queen of this place now, and she only obliges human peasants when she feels like it. He’s feeling better. It’s a work in progress. He smiles and says that he’s doing well to the camera, like the camera is Grandma and Grandpa, like they can hear him. He says that he’s doing well, and that’s he’s started to work in an office building. It’s quite cold in there. There’s a lot of room in his new house, and he’s dedicated one room to painting. The one he made after Grandpa went had sold for a few million dollars. The one he made after Grandma sold for several million. The guitar is propped up against where he still hasn’t finished unpacking. This leads to an impromptu tour including such landmarks as the door that goes nowhere, the odd hole in the ceiling, and the birds that have taken up residence in his porchlight. He’s about to turn the camera off, but he goes to another room and shuts the door so he can say thank you. For everything. They were graceful, and they loved him even if times weren’t easy. They’re the reason why he believes in love. He has a lot to be thankful for, and he misses them.

Hun presses eject on the cassette and places it back in the box and puts the box back on the shelf and closes the cabinet where all the shelves and boxes and cassettes live. Lock the lock. 0206. He really needs to get around to making a digital copy someday.

But it won’t be today. One of his friends-of-friends just moved into the area and needs a place to stay. He drives a candy pink punch buggy and plans weddings for a living. He has a smile that’s very wide and a dog with a funny name. Hun has met him only a couple of times, and he seems like an odd yet decent fellow.

Apparently, he’s a matchmaker.

**Author's Note:**

> Anyway thanks for reading! Come poke me on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/Porteaux_Perah?s=09) or something :)


End file.
